


Jack's Sunshine

by Brokenrook



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Broadway, I'm sorry but she has too much sense to be in this story, Katherine doesn't exist, M/M, Multi, Not 1992 Newsies, Post-Strike, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brokenrook/pseuds/Brokenrook
Summary: In the beginning Jack thought the only way he could find his purpose, his love, his "sunshine" was by going to Santa Fe. Then he found it in the smoggy skies and muddy streets of New York. He found it in a starry eyed cripple that was armed with a crutch and an ever optimistic outlook on life.Jack always thought that Crutchie was unable to be touched by the real world.  Until he was. And he always thought that he would have his sunshine right by his side. Until he didn't.In other words, what happens when something takes away Jack's sunshine.





	Jack's Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on Wattpad under the same name, but I have moved it here as well. This can be read as slash or just as one heck of a bromance, whatever floats your boat.

It was barely a week after the strike when Jack started to notice things weren't quite right.

They were minuet things, things that no one could pick out if you didn't really know Crutchie. But Jack could see them plain as day.

There was less colour in his normally pink face.

His limp was more pronounced, and with every step he seemed to be trying to hide a stab of pain.

He was quieter, not joking or jeering with the other Newsboys as much.

It was like something was sucking the life force right out of Jack's best friend.

Then the coughing started.

It seemed that with each cough Crutchie's entire body shook like a leaf in a dust devil. And within a week the cough blossomed into something worse, something so horrible that Crutchie was too weak to leave the lodging house.

None of the Newsies could pool enough money to even think about taking Crutchie to a doctor, so they had no options. All they could do was pray.

Except for Jack. All he could do was sit and stare at his friend who was fading away in front of his eyes.

His sun, the centre of his solar system was dying and he couldn't do a damn thing.

On the third night of his bed rest, Crutchie shook Jack awake from where he sat vigil on a rickety chair next to the cot Crutchie was confined to.

"Jack." He wheezed.

"Crutchie?" Jack was instantly awake. "Do you need some water? What can I do? Are you alright?"

"I-I'm fine. I want to go up to the roof." He managed.

"What! No!" Jack said loudly and Crutchie shushed him.

"You'll catch your death out there." Jack continued, quieter.

Crutchie rolled his eyes. "Like...that's not.....what I'm doing......in here."

Jack's heart felt like it had been stabbed with a knitting needle.

"You aren't dying Crutchie."

"Then let's go to the-" He was cut off by a round of furious coughing. "Roof. I need to...see it...one more time."

"I can't let you do that."

"Funny. Cause I wasn't asking your....permission. Thought you might want to....tag along."

Crutchie coughed again and feebly tried to push himself out of bed.

Jack sighed, but rushed over anyway and picked Crutchie up in a bridal carry.

"I was fine." Crutchie huffed, but snuggled in a little closer to Jack, who was like a furnace.

Up on the rooftop, Jack set Crutchie down and the sidled up beside him, close enough to lie his head on Crutchie's shoulder.

There was silence as both boys stared out at the skyline with it's few visible stars and huge moon, until Crutchie spoke.

"I- I don't want to die." His voice was soft, barely a whisper, yet it echoed in Jack's ears like a gunshot.

"You aren't going to die." Jack pulled away to look Crutchie straight in the eyes. There was nothing overly special about Crutchie's brown-green eyes, other than the fact that they belonged to Crutchie. That they were a window into the inner workings of his best friend's mind and heart. Usually they held a boyish glimmer, a bit of mischief, and tonight those glimmers were present, but being overshone by a mixture of pain, exhaustion, and disappointment.

"I know I'm dying, Jack."

"No you aren't." Jack said in desperation. How dare Crutchie even think that?

"We all are, I'm just......faster than the rest of you." Crutchie tried to meet Jack's million mile gaze. "It'll all be alright, I wasn't going to live.....long anyway. I'm okay....with dying now. I don't want to die, but I would be okay... if it were now. There is no...place I'd rather ...be than here with my.... brothers, with you. I know you.... will all be alright. I'm okay with dying as long you are all safe."

Jack couldn't believe his ears. His only light in the world was okay with leaving him alone.

"I'm not okay with it! I need you." Jack was near tears, but kept looking out at the skyline, knowing if he met Crutchie's gaze he would lose it.

"No you don't. You'll be alright."

 _Alright?_ Jack thought. _I can't even fathom living a day without you, much less a lifetime. I'd throw myself off this rooftop without you to keep me planted._

It was as if a dam had broken inside the older Newsboy and he could no longer stop the wave of emotion that he had been holding at bay. Jack all but collapsed onto Crutchie's lap, crying huge tears that weren't silent at all. No, his crying was loud, ugly, red faced, runny nose and scrunched up eyes. Jack's tears were real.

Crutchie ran his fingers through Jack's dark hair, trying in vain to soothe him. He didn't know what to do. The moments when Jack had cried in front of him were far and few, lasting only brief seconds and only shedding a few solitary tears. This wasn't at all the same. This was real crying, the kind of crying that made it too hard to breath more than short gasps.

Still not sure what to do Crutchie abandoned trying to stop Jack's tears and began to sing. It wasn't normal for Crutchie to sing, but it wasn't normal for Jack to be a complete wreck either. This was how Crutchie knew to calm people down, or at least this is how he remembered his mother lulling him to sleep after a nightmare in his blurry memories.

His voice was far from perfect, more raspy than anything, and more often than not he had to stop because of the violent coughing, but to Jack it was the best sound he had ever heard.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine._   
_You make me happy when skies are grey._   
_You'll never know dear, how much I love you._   
_Please don't take my sunshine away._

After he finished, Jack pulled Crutchie into a warm hug, his chest still heaving from his sobs.

"Don't worry." Crutchie soothed. "I'm not going anywhere any time soon."

* * *

 

Crutchie lied.

It was three days. For three days Jack sat vigil at Crutchie's beside, he was there in the morning, he was there to carry Crutchie up onto the rooftop, and he was there in the evening when Crutchie closed his eyes from sheer exhaustion. Until the fourth morning, when Crutchie forced Jack to go selling with the other boys.

"Jack, go out with the other boys."

"No, it's alright. I can sit with you." Jack settled more into his chair.

"Go Jack."

"I'm not leaving you alone."

"I-I don't want you around anymore." The lie tasted like acid on Crutchie's lips, but he knew that Jack couldn't miss another selling day, he had to eat, and to do that he had to work. "I want to be by myself. You're suffocating me."

Jack was silent. Crutchie heard his chair squeak back on the scratched hardwood.

"Okay." He said nothing else, just grabbed his hat and jogged out of the lodging house.

Silence wrapped around Crutchie like a cashmere blanket and the world felt so calm, so secluded from the bustle that was undoubtedly going on in the streets below. It was so calm that Crutchie felt his eyes slip shut. And then they didn't open again.

There was no fanfare. No sacrifice play. No bittersweet words.

Just a young boy in the corner bunk of a dingy lodging house who breathed his last while the world went on oblivious to one less bright smile.

* * *

 

It was Race who got back to the Lodging house first that night.

"Hey Crutchie!" Race called as he barged into the room, out of breath from running all the way from the World to the Lodging House. He wanted to hear it straight from the horse's mouth what went down with Jack this morning. "Word on the street is you gave Jack the boot this- Crutchie?"

Race was kneeling at Crutchie's bedside in seconds. "Crutchie? Buddy?"

He shook the corpse's shoulder slightly, and without surprise, got no reaction. "No, no, no. You can't do this to us."

Race brought his ear to Crutchie's chest, listening in vain for a breath, a heartbeat, anything at all that meant his friend was still there. Nothing.

In utter disbelief Race rested his forehead on the edge of the bed. How could it have been that not even eight hours ago he saw his friend alive and smiling? It seemed like a decade ago. How could Crutchie be gone? Just like that?

No one had been there to hold his hand. There were no tearful goodbyes. Crutchie had died alone while his so called "brothers" were hawking headlines and trying to make an easy penny. While they had been joking and playing in the streets Crutchie had been taking his last breaths.

It sickened Race and he could feel tears threatening to spill over, but he held it together when he heard footsteps and chatter on the stairs.

Race stood in an instant. What if it was one of the younger newsboys? They didn't need to see this.

Rushing across the room, Race managed to just barely make it out the door and slam it before Henry and Specs were able to open it. He stood with his back against the door, almost as if he was guarding it.

"What the heck Race?" Henry groaned. "We just wanna go to bed."

"You can't go in there."

Specs brows furrowed. "What game are you playing here?"

"No games." Race swallowed hard. "We need to have a meeting, all the newsboys."

Both boys paled. They hardly ever had meetings, it meant something serious had happened. The last one was about the strike.

"What do you want us to do, Race?" Henry asked.

"Specs and I are going to get all the newsies rounded up together. And Henry, I want you to stand guard in front of the lodging house, no Newsie is allowed inside until the meeting is over."

Henry nodded dutifully and went to stand on the front steps.

Race turned to Specs. "You take North, I'll take South?"

"Good enough for me."

And with that Race lived up to his name and bolted out the front door.

* * *

Specs was about to turn to the lodging house when he saw Jack come sauntering up the street, whistling a tune he probably learned at Medda's.

"Hey Jack!" Specs flagged him down and jogged over.

"Specs? What are you doing on this end of the city? Central Park not so guaranteed anymore?" Jack chuckled at his own little joke.

Specs didn't. "We need to get back to the lodging house. Now."

Any smile that Jack had before withered away. "What's going on?"

"Race called a meeting."

Jack nodded once and looked at the few newspapers still tucked under his arms. There was maybe four left, he was probably on his way to take them back to the distribution centre, but instead he abandoned them on the curb.

And like that the two boys set off like bats out of hell.

* * *

 

By the time Jack and Specs made it back to the lodging house, a small crowd of newsies had gathered at the door with Henry and Race standing on the step to stop the herd from entering.

The group of Newsies was loud, almost rowdy, and most definitely annoyed to be denied their beds after a long day. It didn't take an expert to know that Race and Henry may end up trampled if they didn't let the exhausted boys into the lodging house. Nobody noticed how Race's eyes were red and he seemed to be biting back sobs.

Nobody except Jack. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd and stepped up onto the stoop with Henry and Race.

"Hey!" He shouted. "Hey boys!"

The crowd quieted, hearing their leader.

"Race has something to say to us all." He put an hand on Race's shoulder. "But first, is everyone here?"

The was a mummer throughout the group as they all did a mini checklist of their closest friends.

Finally a voice to the right shouted out.

"Crutchie ain't here!"

Henry nodded. "Yah, Crutchie is up napping in the cool air while we'se baking out here! I'll run up and get the bugger."

The newsboy turned to dash into the building but Race stopped him with a hand.

"Henry." Race had tears dribbling down his cheeks now and he was biting down so hard on his lip that there was blood. "You can't do that."

Jack's stomach turned to lead. "What's goin' on here, Race?"

"Jack... I'm sor-"

"No." Jack breathed and was through the door and up the stairs faster than anyone thought was possible, with the herd of newsies in quick pursuit.

* * *

 

Jack knew what had happened the second he saw the tears overspill from Race's eyes. Race never cried, only if something truly horrible had happened.

But that didn't stop him from wanting to believe he was wrong. God, he wanted to be wrong so badly it hurt, yet when Jack looked at the ashen face of his brother he knew he was right.

Crutchie was gone.

His sunshine was gone.

It was as if all of his strength had seeped into the floorboards. His Crutchie was dead. Jack slumped down beside the bed. There was a second of utter shock and then the sobs hit him.

His cries were ugly, heaving, airless sobs that sounded like it had been his heart had been ripped from his chest. But it might as well have been for how much he hurt.

Jack was barely aware when he tugged Crutchie's slight frame out of the bed and cradled him to his chest, like he used to during cold nights on the rooftop. Now the only cold thing was Crutchie.

Jack was oblivious to the circle of distraught newsboys that had gathered around Crutchie's bunk. He didn't hear the younger boys crying as they buried their faces in older boys' pant legs. He didn't see boys clutching their hats to their chests, or the boys who bragged to have never shed a tear sniffling and letting tears dribble down their faces unchecked because their brother was dead god dammit and they needed to mourn him.

Though all Jack could see was Crutchie. His blinding smile, his quick limp, his backwards cap and his shining eyes. His ears rang with Crutchie's voice shouting out headlines, laughing, and singing. All of these things he would never experience again. All gone.

* * *

Much to the surprise of most of the Manhattan newsies, it Spot Conlon and his band of boys who came to bury Crutchie. They came at night, just walked straight into the lodging house without even a hello. But no boy stood in their way when a blank faced Jack handed Crutchie over to Spot, because no one dared to question the top dog of Brooklyn. No one but Jack,he made to say something but Spot cut him off.

"Don't worry. He was a good newsie and a damn good friend. I'll make sure he get's a proper burial. I'll send someone to tell you where he's buried."

Jack nodded and tried not to look at how limply Crutchie dangled in Spot's arms.

As Spot turned to go he nudged Jack with his shoulder.

"Don't dirty his memory by crying over him like he was a little lamb. Crutchie was a fine hawker, could sell papes with the best of them and not because of his limp."

A look from Jack made Spot snort, but it was a forced sound, followed by a almost soft response.

"He wasn't just your friend."

Jack looked up to see the Spot's eyes were filled with unshed tears and he couldn't help but wonder how Crutchie and the boy who ran Brooklyn became such good friends.

"Thank you Spot." Jack said.

"I didn't do it for you Jackie boy." Spot spit out and left the lodging house with his crew in tow.

Jack watched him from the window until they were like ants on the street and disappeared all together. That was the last time he saw Crutchie.

* * *

 

 _The other night dear, as I lay sleeping_  
 _I dreamt I held you in my arms_  
 _But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken_  
 _So I hung my head and I cried_.

In the weeks that followed Jack's sleep was fitful. His dreams became recurring, each night started on the same street corner with Crutchie just steps away selling papes. Jack would rush to pull him into a bone crushing hug, and for a moment Crutchie was in his arms alive and well, and then he would wake up with empty arms.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_   
_You make me happy when skies are gray_   
_You'll never know dear, how much I love you_   
_Please don't take my sunshine away._

Jack took to sleeping on the roof full time, that way he could watch the sun come up and pretend Crutchie was watching with him. Everyday after his passing had been absolutely beautiful, which Jack thought was absolutely disgusting. How dare the world be bright and warm when Jack's sunshine was gone?

No matter how spectacular the day was, Jack was cold on the inside. No sunlight could make that ice melt.

* * *

 

_I'll always love you and make you happy,_   
_If you will only say the same._   
_But if you leave me and love another,_   
_You'll regret it all some day:_

After a month Jack no longer felt cold inside.

No, he felt angry.

How dare Crutchie leave him to rot alone in this hell hole?

How _dare_ he become the centre of Jack's life and then die?

Jack couldn't bring himself to visit Crutchie's grave, even when an impish Brooklyn Newsie no older than eight came to show him where it was. Jack refused to believe that all that was left for the world to remember his friend by was an unmarked hole in the ground.

It wasn't until Jack was shook awake in the middle if the night by the leader of Brooklyn that he worked up the courage to o to the grave.

Spot led him without a lantern through the damp streets until they made it to a patch of thick bushes on the edge of an old park. That was when Spot gave Jack a hard shove through the bushes.

"Welcome to the Newsies' Cemetery," He said, his voice devoid of a glimmer of emotion. "Crutchie is in the east corner."

Jack walked slowly through the tiny graveyard and stared at the rows of crude wooden crosses or other makeshift markers, until he spied a oddly shaped cross off to itself that caught his eye.

As he moved closer and his eyes adjusted more to the dark, Jack realized that it wasn't made of bent up driftwood like he thought, but of two halves of a very familiar crutch.

At a loss for words, Jack sunk down to his knees in front of the cross, and strained his eyes to read the carving affixed the centre of the cross.

Crutchie Morris. A Manhattan Newsie with a Brooklyn heart.

Jack stroked the worn wood of the crutch where Crutchie used to rest his hand and knelt down, softly singing the words to a tune he had heard so many nights ago.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_   
_You make me happy when skies are gray_   
_You'll never know dear, how much I love you_   
_Please don't take my sunshine away._

"You know the some of your newsies come here to pray."

Spot's sudden presence startled Jack, he hadn't even heard him come through the bushes.

"But most just come here to talk to Crutchie. They tell him that they miss him, and about the best and worst headlines. But most of all they tell him they are worried about you."

Jack didn't understand and Spot seemed to notice.

"They're worried you'll leave them too."

Now Jack understood. The boys were worried that he'd lose the will to live without Crutchie and throw himself off some rooftop or jump off the Brooklyn bridge with weights tied to his feet.

"Tell me you won't abandon your brothers."

Jack couldn't answer.

"Tell me, Jack. Promise me you won't put them through more pain."

It was like the air was stuck in his throat.

"Jack." Spot's voice was filled with anger. "Crutchie told you to look out for them."

"HOW DO YOU KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT CRUTCHIE?" Jack exploded. "WERE YOU THERE WHEN HE WOKE UP SCREAMING FROM NIGHTMARES? WERE YOU THE ONE WHO HE WROTE TO IN THE REFUGE? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT CRUTCHIE LIKE HE WAS YOUR FRIEND! YOU BARELY KNEW HIM!" By the time Jack was finished screaming he was breathing hard and angry tears were spilling over again.

Spot sat down with a sigh, like all the anger in him had been leeched out with his energy.

"Maybe I wasn't the one who comforted him when he had nightmares, or the one he wrote to when he was losing hope, but I did know him." Spot wouldn't meet Jack's eyes.

"I-I was the one who brought him to you."

"What?" Again, Jack didn't understand. Crutchie had come to the Manhattan Newsies alone, with nothing more than his crutch and the shirt in his back.

"Before I became the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies, I did patrols. You know, looking for scabbers, roughing up some people, protecting our territory. The stuff they gave the young boys to show them the ropes. Anyway, one night I stumbled upon him sleeping in an alcove by the gates to the distribution centre, he was maybe twelve, but so was I and he looked like a scabber to me. I went to kick him awake and before my foot could make contact, he sprung up like a Jack in the box." Spot laughed, but it came out more like a sigh.

"Do you know what he said?"

Jack shook his head.

"You wouldn't hit a poor cripple, would ya?' Then the little bugger whipped me in the knees with his his crutch so hard that I swear I heard my bone bend and tried to make a run for it. I caught up to him of course, but I was so amazed at his spunk that I didn't beat the living daylights out of him. Asked him if he knew who I was, that I was a Brooklyn Newsie, and that he was taking a pretty brave swing trying to run from me, but all he said was; I know. He said that there wasn't anything else for him to do, he wasn't from Brooklyn, so being a Newsie here was out of the question and he had no where else to go. So I brought him to the Manhattan Newsies lodging house, what else could I do? The punk was too young to be on his own, but had too big of a smile to go to waste in some factory. I left him on the doorstep with instructions to not take no for an answer. We stayed friends after that, met on the bridge once and awhile to trade stories. It was nice to have a friend who didn't think of me as Spot Conlon: the boy who killed his way to the top. There were days I regretted taking him to you, but I knew you were better for him."

Jack couldn't quite wrap his head around it. His rival had given him his best friend. Spot had hiked in Manhattan in the dead of night, at age twelve to help Crutchie.

"Thank you." It was all Jack could think to say.

"I didn't do it for you." Spot's voice had grown rough and he stood up quickly, as if that could hide the tears from Jack. He chucked a stubby candle at his feet. "I'll assume you can find your way back."

Spot was gone before Jack could answer.

On the way back to the lodging house a icy breeze blew around Jack, pulling up a memory.

Crutchie's skin was so hot that in a last ditch effort to cool him down and break his fever, Jack had hauled him up to the rooftop in -15c. Jack almost froze to death up there exposed to howling winds from all directions that dropped the temperature by another ten degrees, but it had broken Crutchie's fever. And just before Crutchie had fallen asleep he had managed to whisper something in Jack's ear.

"Love you."

_You told me once, dear, you really loved me_   
_And no one else could come between._   
_But now you've left me and love another;_   
_You have shattered all of my dreams:_

As Jack walked he couldn't help but think about how close that song hit home. Crutchie was a centre in all his dreams, it had always been moved to Santa Fe with Crutchie, ride palominos with Crutchie, swim the whole Rio Grande with Crutchie.

And now those dreams were dead. Santa Fe didn't excite Jack anymore, it just made the hole in his heart deeper.

Climbing the steps to the lodging house, Jack stopped dead in his tracks. Every light was off and the door was locked, to get in he'd probably have to wake up Race, and he didn't feel like explaining himself right now. Instead Jack sat down with his back against the door and focused on the melody playing in his head.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_   
_You make me happy when skies are gray_   
_You'll never know dear, how much I love you_   
_Please don't take my sunshine away_

His dream was different tonight. Instead of seeing Crutchie on the street corner, he was sitting close to him on the ground.

"Crutchie..." Jack's voice came out strangled.

"Jack." Crutchie's smile was sad. "You have to let me go."

If it was possible, Jack's heart broke even more. "I-I can't."

"You can."

"Don't leave me alone. I-" Jack looked down. "I'm scared. I'm scared that I can't go on without you."

Crutchie turned Jack's chin up so he was looking him in the eyes. "You won't be. I'll always be right by your side, even if you can't see me."

Crutchie stood to leave.

"Please! I'm sorry for whatever I've done to deserve this! Just come back!"

Crutchie had tears the mirrored Jack's. "I wish I could. I love you. Take care of my brothers."

"Wait." Jack scrambled to stand. "Take me with you."

Crutchie let out a deep breath. "It isn't your time yet, and it won't be for awhile. But I promise I'll be waiting."

And with those words Crutchie faded out of sight.

_In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me_   
_When I awake my poor heart pains._   
_So when you come back and make me happy_   
_I'll forgive you dear, I'll take all the blame._

When Jack awoke, the sun was just peeking over the rooftops. And for the first time in many months he let a little smile grace his lips because of it. Because as long as he had a little bit of sunshine, he had a little bit of Crutchie.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_   
_You make me happy when skies are gray_   
_You'll never know dear, how much I love you_   
_Please don't take my sunshine away_


End file.
